Germany Bares His Heart, But Gets FriendZoned
by Moonlight Mile
Summary: A quick writing exercise reworking a familiar GerIta fan-favorite scene. Loving someone can be tough especially when you're in love with the oblivious Italy!


**Germany Bares His Heart to Italy, But Gets Friend-Zoned **

Author's Note: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters, and I am not making any money off of this fan work. I'm just here to… play.

This is just a simple writing exercise, and I chose to rework the scene from the anime where Germany tells Italy he loves him. I love that GerIta is basically canon, and I am pretty convinced that Germany was HRE but doesn't remember it.

Rating: Kept this pretty PG, I'd say.

Characters: Germany/Italy (one-sided, as the title implies), Britain, France, mentions HRE.

ON WITH THE FIC! YAYAYAYAYAYAY

_I never liked him back then, and I certainly don't like him now. _France fumed quietly to himself as he thought of more damaging propaganda to spread about Germany. Maybe he could invent something about a sexual perversion regarding potatoes…

Britain, it seemed, had other ideas about their next gossip move, suggesting Italy as their next target.

France's heart clenched unreasonably. He had always enjoyed tormenting Italy—it was incredibly easy, and it made him feel less, well, weak—but this was different. There was no believable, hateful thing they could spread about sweet, innocent Italy even if he was part of the Axis with Germany and Japan.

"You can't!" France blurted.

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"I know he's our enemy right now, but he really is a nice guy! He's just misunderstood! Italy's off limits, Britain!"

France knew he was babbling, but he didn't care. He just wanted Britain to lay off this train of thought. Italy was an idiot, but he was a sweet idiot. Sure, France enjoyed smacking Italy around as much as the others did, but that was different. Italy did not require much prodding before he started whining and crying, and that kind of bullying was simple and effective. France likened the treatment to the way an older brother playfully abuses a younger sibling. Propaganda, on the other hand, was a vicious, dirty business, and he used it cruelly and mercilessly against a country like Germany.

Just the thought of Germany made France's lip curl in a snarl, but for Italy… no, he did not want to think about how Italy would react to harsh mudslinging, actual words and actions meant to damage him with hurtful intent. Italy was so innocent and simple; he did not want to complicate the poor country with vicious lies that could damage that innocence. But Germany… he thought back to the older days before Germany was even Germany, and he had fought bitterly with him even then. Both then and now, he had always been stubborn, quick to anger, almost as big of a pervert as France, and no stranger to war and pain. He would have felt no mercy, either, if little Italy hadn't adored—

"Oh, fine…" Britain sulked, breaking France from his reverie. His thick caterpillar eyebrows bristled with annoyance, pinching together in a frown at the top of his eyes.

Then, a grin crept across Britain's face as he thought of a sly way to simultaneously spread propaganda about Germany and indirectly torment Italy…

"Hey, Italy…"

Britain approached Italy, matching his pace, and slid up next to him like an overly chummy friend.

"Ve~?" Italy seemed started to see Britain appear so suddenly.

Britain flashed him a winning smile, and Italy seemed to relax for a moment.

_Good_, Britain thought. _That's right, we're act like we're friends…_

"Italy, you know what I heard?" Britain whispered low as if he was about to tell Italy the secret to life, the universe, and everything. "I heard that Germany hates you… he's tired of protecting you, tired of cleaning up after your messes. He said he was only pretending to be your friend because it's funny, and it gets worse…"

Italy's face was already streaming with tears. His body shook, preparing to hear the worst of what Britain had to say…

_No, no, no! How can it be worse? Oh, Germany! _

"I heard… he also hates pasta."

"AHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOO!"

Italy let loose a shrill, heartbroken scream and took off running, wiping furiously at his tear-streaked cheeks. Britain waited until Italy was out of sight before he broke out in gut-busting guffaws.

"What… a complete moron…"

Britain had to wipe away a tear of mirth as he gasped for air. He bent over, clutching his knees. He laughed so hard it hurt to breathe.

"And what is so terribly funny, Britain?"

Britain made another attempt to force air into his lungs as he inhaled deeply. He made himself stand straight up, coming face to face with France.

"Oh, France! You just missed it! I spread a really convincing lie about Germany!"

France brightened. "That's fantastic! What did you say?"

"I just told Italy that Germany hates him!"

The smile that illuminated France's face vanished like a hamburger under America's nose.

"You… did what?"

France grabbed Britain by the collar of his shirt.

"Unhand me, you frog!"

"No," France hissed. "We are going to find Italy and straighten this out, and then I'm going to smack you!"

France started dragging a protesting Britain in his search for Italy. He had to make amends.

_I am sorry for this cruelty, Italy… Britain never should have told you that Germany hated you! I already took away one you loved long ago, and now that you have finally found him again, whether you really know it or not, I will not allow you to think you have been abandoned again!_

France stopped short when he realized that, just around the corner, Italy was already confronting Germany.

"Is it true?" Italy sobbed.

Germany looked thoroughly confused and slightly alarmed. It seemed like Germany wanted to do something to console Italy, but had no idea how to go about doing it. He weakly lifted a hand in Italy's direction—_Should I touch his shoulder? Would he want a hug right now? God, I don't know…_- but the hand fell limply to his side.

"Italy, what—?"

"Is it true that you hate me and you're just pretending to be my friend?" Italy's smaller frame shook. "I'm sorry that I'm so much trouble, but is it true you really can't stand me?"

Germany fumbled silently for the words as Italy looked to him expectantly.

_Oh, Italy… have I been too harsh with you? I only wanted you to be a little stronger, a little more serious… _

Few precious seconds ticked by and felt like hours. The oppressive tension of waiting brought forth fresh tears in the corners of Italy's eyes as he fearfully waited for Germany's answer. Blood pounded in Germany's ears, and he sighed.

"Lies…it's not true… actually…"

A hint of pink tinted Germany's face—this did not go unnoticed by France, who licked his lips in anticipation as he and Britain silently witnessed the scene unfold.

"Ich liebe dich…ja."

It was barely audible, hardly a whisper, but it was the most powerful thing Germany had ever uttered out loud to anyone—_I finally said it_. Realizing that he just revealed himself in the most emotionally vulnerable way, Germany's entire face lit up tomato-red. France strained his ears as Germany let the words tumble out of his mouth like an inexperienced schoolgirl, and he just barely caught what was said. France tightened his grip on Britain's collar in order to remain standing; his action had the added effect of choking Britain.

The transformative effect on Italy's sadness was instantaneous. His face, still wet with old tears, seemed to split ear to ear with joy, and he launched himself toward Germany for a hug.

"I knew it couldn't be true! I'm too pretty!"

Germany's lip quivered with irritation. _He didn't… he didn't even acknowledge my confession?_

Germany wallowed in silent anguish as Italy hugged him and unleashed a stream of vocal diarrhea.

"I'm so glad Germany likes me, and Germany is so strong, and Germany will always be my best friend, and I will make delicious pasta for Germany, oh Germany, I knew you could never hate the pasta because it's so gooooood—"

The words "best friend" echoed and rang throughout Germany's mind as Italy continued on about the positive qualities of fine Italian pasta.

_Best friend, best friend, best friend, best friend, best friend, best friend... oh help me, I just told this complete moron I love him!_

Meanwhile, France released his death-grip on Britain. Britain scrambled away from France.

"Oh, Germany," France muttered. "I wouldn't have wished this even on you…"

_You two… you two are so close and don't even realize it! _France shed very sympathetic tears for the odd couple; he was very sensitive about matters of the heart, after all.

_Some day… some day, perhaps, you will rediscover yourselves… you must do it for yourselves, on your own, because it is important for you both to reach that level of maturity, but I will be hoping for you like the hopeless romantic that I am! I will still hate you, Germany, but Italy deserves his chance at happiness!_

"There's something too weird about all of this…" Britain grumbled, rubbing his sore neck. He paled when he realized France was crying while looking on at Germany and Italy. "I don't know about you, but I could use a stiff drink now."

ZE END.

Hate it? Like it? Love it? Wanna take it behind a high school and get it preggers? Let me know. Constructive criticism appreciated~ Flames will only fuel feelings of amusement.


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